


stripped away like peeling paint

by ciders



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 27 Years Later AU, Alternate Universe - Canon, Canonical Character Death, Flashbacks, Implied Stenbrough, Multi, it's Richie instead, you'll get what i mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 23:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13962813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciders/pseuds/ciders
Summary: Nothing gave him more satisfaction, though, than to see how lifeless the previously erratic and violent being had become, and as Eddie turned back to the opening of the tunnel, guiding Bill away, he gave his throat a sharp clear and spat forcefully at the ground. Fuck you, he thought to himself.We won. Fuck you.





	stripped away like peeling paint

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this around christmas bc someone requested it, so here it is. still one of my favourite one-shots. hope you enjoy, but don't at the same time.

Eddie had never seen so much blood in his entire life. More importantly, he had never been so enthralled by the sight of blood than he was right then, and likely never would be again. 

Bill Denbrough wasn’t the tallest out of the group of his friends, nor the strongest, but as his hands slid out from beneath IT’s skin with IT’s heart clutched tightly in his hands, he sure seemed like he was. To Eddie, he looked larger than life, and he imagined that Bill must have felt that way deep inside, too. He had sunk his fingers deep into the tender flesh of the struggling organ, tearing it open before Eddie could open his mouth to protest (like he would, anyhow. He knew how badly, if any of them, that Bill needed to do this for himself), and that was when it had all came rushing out. 

Blood seeped down past Bill’s calloused fingers, dripping down to the piques of his elbows and splashing against the dirt below their feet. It drenched the thin, already filthy button up shirt he was wearing equally, and as much as it was positive that Bill hadn’t worn anything light colored that day, Eddie could see the fine crimson glint of the liquid as his childhood best friend turned back to face him. Eddie had expected to see something like an expression of victory on his face, or triumph. He was sure that Bill had expected the noises that escaped his throat to sound positive, a triumph of victory ( _hi-yo, silver, away, Eddie’s brain rumbled)_ but instead, the sound rang through Eddie’s ears like a hurricane siren. 

It was over.

It took the smaller man a moment to realize, as he reached out and put a solid grip on Bill’s forearms, where exactly this sound was coming from, but he pinpointed it. Sticky like the blood seeping into Bill’s clothing, heavy and dark and crushing against the man’s chest. _If the feeling was physical_ , Eddie thought, _it might crush his bones to a fine dust_. _Anguish_ , Eddie thought finally. Eddie hadn’t been with Billy when his brother had been found all those years ago: but he imagined, with a sick knot deep inside of his stomach, that this was a lot similar to the noise Bill must have made when he realized Georgie was dead. It only took Bill 27, nearly 28 years to truly, honestly understand it.

“Bill” Eddie whispered kindly, his grip loosening on his friend as tears began to flow down Bill’s cheeks. They sprung from his tear ducts like somebody had turned on a faucet inside of him, and the taller man let out several well deserved, choked sobs before he began to quiet once more, the adrenaline of the situation beginning to dissipate. 

It was over. It was _all over_. 

“Come on” he spoke limply, his voice having come out almost inaudible. “Come on, everyone else is still back there” Eddie tried once more in a subtly soothing tone, looping an arm around Bill’s shoulder as he began to lead him back out through the opening of the tunnel they had traversed in order to corner the now dead entity that laid sprawled across the cobblestone beneath it. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but for some reason, surprise curled inside of him when the body didn’t seem to sink right through the mossy ground under it’s frame, or maybe blister and crack, flaking away and drifting down the sewer tunnel to the tune of a nonexistent breeze. Nothing gave him more satisfaction, though, than to see how lifeless the previously erratic and violent being had become, and as Eddie turned back to the opening of the tunnel, guiding Bill away, he gave his throat a sharp clear and spat forcefully at the ground. _Fuck you_ , he thought to himself.

_We won. Fuck you._

As they escaped out the other end of the tunnel and back into the line of sight of the rest of the group, Eddie exhaled smoothly and shut his eyes just briefly, and for the first time in a long time, he could do so without fearing what was going to be in front of him when he opened them. He continued walking, his grip on Bill’s shoulder dismissive and gentle: just enough to lead the boy along next to him. 

When Bill halted, however, Eddie’s eyes shot open once more as he was almost pulled back off his feet by the mixture of slippery ground and his own hold on the man.

“Wha—“

As Eddie’s arm slipped away from Bill’s shoulder, he turned and craned his neck only slightly to look at him, eyes flickering open again. Eddie felt, for that moment, like /his/ heart had been yanked out of his chest. Bill’s face was one of shock, an expression that seemed to change with every passing second that Eddie stared at him. It began with what appeared to be disbelief, which was quickly followed by fear. Eddie’s brows furrowed involuntarily as he watched his old best friend’s expression’s morph like this, like some macabre sort of display. But it was the shift in his eyes, from fear to sorrow, that really struck something inside of Eddie’s chest. That, and a subtle realization that would haunt him quite possibly for the rest of his life. Bill was looking away from him, unusual, as he was—

 _

_“—always making eye contact. It’s weird” Eddie had grumped, his own eyes cascaded by the shifting shadows cast by the leaves above him. He and Stanley were seated beneath one of the trees along the shoreline of the Barrens, a small basket of fruit seated in between the two of them. Stanley had just grabbed an apple from the container when Eddie has spoken up about Bill’s odd habit, and his hand hovered over the opening of the basket, as though he was considering the smaller boy’s statement._

_“You think that’s weird?” Stanley had asked in a rather surprised tone as he began moving once more, rubbing the apple nervously against the thigh of his shorts._

_“I mean, yeah. Aren’t most people pretty uncomfortable about eye contact? I know I am. Staring into my soul, or somethin’” Eddie murmured as he avoided Stanley’s gaze as though to prove his point, prodding one of the bruises that sat deeply just above his kneecap. This made Stanley smile: checking for a hematoma, something, anything that could come of such a small bruise maybe. He never really understood Eddie’s fascination._ _Part of him knew, of course, that back then, Eddie didn’t understand it either._

_“I don’t think it’s weird” Stanley whispered in response through a moment of silence, raising his gaze from the fruit in his palm as Eddie turned towards him._

_“You don’t?”_

_“He never really looks me in the face, all the time. But when he does—“ Eddie’s shoulders tightened as he grew nervous, staring out across the water before them. “Feels like he’s looking right through me.”_

_“I never got that” Stan murmured, honest as he takes a small bite._

_“…Really?” Eddie hummed._

_“Nope” Stanley confirmed through his chewing, turning away. It was his turn to be stubborn, to avoid Eddie’s questioning stare. “Bill sees people differently, Eddie. People who get nervous looking into other people’s eyes typically are the kind of people who dislike intimacy. Bill needs that. He needs to know that he can trust the people he’s with. I find it weird when he **doesn’t** look me in the face, y’know? That—“_

 _

was what hit him. Bill wasn’t looking at Eddie. Bill was looking directly over his shoulder where Bev, Stan, Mike, Ben and Richie were waiting for them. Eddie’s gaze followed.

What he saw nearly made him strike Bill across the lips in response. His anger, or whatever deeply rooted emotion that was slowly beginning to swallow him, was misguided, violent in nature out of sheer, instant reaction. 

Eddie wanted to break open Bill’s jaw for killing IT. At least, for killing IT before the thing had any opportunity to swing it’s sharp, jagged claws towards him and tear his corneas open, blinding him beyond repair so that he didn’t have to see what laid in front of him. If sheer force could cease his vision, he’d be seeing black.

Eddie had only seen Beverly weep maybe one or two times in his entire life, and not once in the past 27 years that they hadn’t seen each other. He could feel his fingers beginning to chill, imagining that they were turning purple at his sides as he stared at the scene unfolding in front of them. Bill still hadn’t moved yet, and Eddie had practically forgotten he was there as he watched dark liquid begin to pool next to Beverly, the knees of her pants soaking up blood as it spilled. It wasn’t coming from her, no. It was coming from the figure lain sloppily on the ground in front of her, hand resting on their hardly budging chest, lungs ready to heave out one last sigh.

It almost looked fake, that much blood. Like the movies. How red it seemed to be. He knew it wasn’t fake, however, no matter how intensely he prayed that it was.  _Please God,_ he was thinking, his brain spinning and sputtering out prayers he hadn’t even thought to make ever before in his life.  _Please God, I know I’ve been poor and I know I’ve done wrong and nobody can be to blame for that but myself I accept that but please god if you could stop the bleeding. Please god if you could stop the bleeding, I don’t want more blood spilled unless it’s an illusion, unless I’m crazy, dear God please let this be my insanity fueling a vision, don’t do this oh God don’t do this to me not me not me not him I  didn’t see it hit him so it’s not real it’s not real please God—_

On the ground, nearly drowning in his own blood, his slightly baggy, green pullover now likely permanently stained red, was Richie Tozier.

Eddie found himself in a real world lag, his body moving quicker than his brain or his eyes could keep up with. His brain, itself, had practically shut down, letting Eddie’s body move without really considering the steps it was making. He wasn’t crying, no. Crying required some sort of emotional expulsion. Eddie Kaspbrak’s brain may as well have melted and dribbled out of his ears at that very second. He didn’t exactly come to, or return to the present per se, until he found himself on his knees at Tozier’s hip, his fingers brushing the rapidly building pool of blood in front of him. It was hot, too hot to the touch. Or as Richie might have said, ‘hot as—

 _

_“—piss. That’s pretty much it, piss and shit” Eddie had hissed with such a saturated sense of disgust that even Ben Hanscom, who had been crouched down inside the mouth of the tunnel staring into the murky water that rose to ankle height against his rain boots, turned and gave him a surprised look._

_“I’d be surprised if there was_ just  _piss and shit in this water, Spaghetti Man” Richie had chided the boy for his clear expression of distaste towards their excursion, pressing the arch of his glasses up to the top of his nose and peering towards the exit of the sewage opening. Eddie was standing on the grass just outside of the metallic tunnel, his toes inches away from the foul liquid. He had refused to enter._

_“How—how are you okay just being in there? That’s disgusting, that’s absolutely fou— Ben, you’re okay with this?” Eddie squeaked as he placed a grip on his right upper arm, staring into the opening as though it might slam shut if he passed inside. Ben opened his mouth to speak, but Richie quickly (not surprisingly) filled in for him._

_“Live a little, Eds, huh? Come on een, mate! Take a little dunk-aroo with us!” Richie had snickered in a rather poor Aussie accent as he pressed his fingers together in a scoop form, shooting a daring look through his lenses towards the boy as he faked the motion of slicing his hand through the water and sending a splash towards Eddie. Eddie yelped instinctively, backing out of the way._

_“You’re a fucking_ dumbass _, Richie! You know that?” Eddie has scolded, his face only growing hotter as Richie howled with entertained giggles, his laughter echoing through the pipes. “You’re—_

___

–okay. You’re okay” Eddie croaked as he stared down at Richie’s loose frame, hardly any sense of relief encompassing him as he noticed that the man was still breathing. Richie’s head, previously laying faced towards Bev, turned slowly, shakily even, towards the direction of Eddie’s voice. Eddie couldn’t tell exactly where the blood was coming from, his neck or his torso or somewhere else. Nothing was an indicative mark anymore: everything was bloodied to the point that any color his clothing had held before was unidentifiable. His face was nearly untouched, except for a couple minor scratched that sat beneath his right eye.

“Aw, shit. Look who it is” Richie whispered slowly, like every syllable was a challenge. His eyes opened a bit more from their previous squint and he stared at Eddie for what felt like hours, but in reality, might have pushed 5 seconds, if lucky.

“Dr. Kaspbrak, I’m your _biggest_ fan. Will you sign my t-shirt?” Richie exhaled harshly, a choking cough escaping as the last bit of air from his sigh squeezed out of his throat. Instinctively, Eddie grabbed at Richie’s forearm. Richie didn’t flinch.

“You’re gonna be fine, yeah? You’re gonna be fine. R—“

“You’re not gonna’ fool me, old man. That fucker got me pretty good. Straight—straight through—” Richie interjected, causing Eddie to go silent as he stared at the blood pooling beneath his Richie’s torso. Eddie ripped his stare away from Richie’s pitiful figure and looked across him towards Beverly. Richie didn’t need to finish for Eddie to understand that he wasn’t sporting _just_ an entry wound.

 _It never just started something_ , Eddie thought through violent anger. _It never just started, it always finished. It always went clean through. That’s what it did with us._

“You need to help me get him up. We’re getting him out of here” Eddie said in an almost doctoral tone, reaching down to try and get a solid hold on Richie to prop him up. Richie seized his wrist almost too quickly for someone who was rapidly bleeding out.

“I don’t want to be moved” Richie said simply, his eyes never leaving the man’s face. There was a sentiment in his tone, for a moment, that lit Eddie’s entire being on fire.

Eddie froze.

“What do you mean ‘you don’t want t—“

“I mean what I mean, pal” Richie continued, his deadly grip on Eddie’s wrist slipping as he let his hand fall palm-down onto his stomach, flinching ever so slightly. He let out another choked cough. 

“We’re moving you” Eddie spoke without question, turning his gaze up to look at the group of them. Beverly continued to weep. Ben sat back with his elbows on his knees, fingertips tainted with that unholy crimson. He was crying. Eddie realized then that he was crying as well, and it seemed like he had been for several minutes. Nobody responded to his statement.

Nobody moved.

“We’re  _moving you! You don’t get to decide!_ ” Eddie yelped suddenly, really taking notice of the tears now as they sprung from his tear ducts, dripping violently onto his shirt and the tops of his thighs as he balled up his fists. His vision was blurring, and this only made him cry harder. It was then that his gaze returned to Richie’s face.

He was smiling.

“Oh, you’re such a fool, Eds” Richie whispered in passing, his dreamy smile never faltering as he reached out a free hand, his arm practically vibrating with weakness as he clutched Eddie’s pale fingers. The boy didn’t resist, intertwining his fingers with Richie’s as he felt his posture begin to twist, leaning forward and letting out a violent sob into their joined hands. It was settling in now, the whole situation that was unfolding in front of him. That was how it always worked though, wasn’t it? Killing that monster was too fulfilling: something had to give. He’d heard Richie say something similar before once; you can’t gain something—

 _

_“—without losing something, Eddie Spaghetti” Richie had announced as he pried a card from Eddie’s grip, watching as the boy’s cheeks light up like a stop light. He always knew it was best not to let Richie pick their card games, but he appreciated the excitement that usually tore through Richie when he was given the opportunity._

_“Not fair, Rich. Like, at all” Eddie grumped as he watched Richie slap his cards open faced down on the table, balling up his fist and thrusting it up into the air. Eddie scoffed and dropped his hand down onto the tabletop as well, leaning forward with his elbows pressing hard into the polished pine surface as he traced a half of empty mug of coffee sitting on a coaster in front of him._

_“What if I don’t want to lose anything, though?” Eddie pressed as he stared at Richie, watching as the boy’s attention was pulled from his victory. It took Eddie a moment to realize that he was staring a little too hard. That he was, dare say, blushing._

_“Sometimes you have to, fella” Richie mumbled with a hint of unsureness in his tone as he leaned forward on the table in a mirroring act, watching as Eddie’s cheeks lit up even further. “That’s okay though, Eds. If you’re gonna’ lose, you have to learn to accept it. ‘Cause sometimes it’s—_

 _

“—bound to happen. Do you remember when we met, huh?” Richie spoke as though he was reminiscing. His eyes roamed the group of them. None of them would make eye contact with him. Mike Hanlon was stood away from them entirely, fists balled up against his closed eyelids. Where he couldn’t bear the sight of his childhood friend dying before his eyes, Eddie couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“Don’t do this to me” Eddie whispered slowly, watching surprise flash across Richie’s face before he returned to that serene, stupid  _fucking_ smile.

“I remember” Richie carried on as though he hadn’t heard Eddie’s pleas, “the first thing you said to me was that you hoped you never had to speak to me again. You remember? Now, don’t take that bad, I don’t blame you but I think it’s funny. Because now you’re sitting here, watching me—“

“Stop it.”

Richie’s lips fell shut as he turned back to look at Eddie. He grew silent, smile faltering if only for a fraction of a second before it returned.

“Stop what? You don’t like my story?”

“Richie—“ Eddie choked.

“They’ve said their goodbyes, Eds, I’m on a short leash. Let me heckle you a little lon—“

“Stop. Stop smiling like that. Like you’re happy about this” Eddie hissed, through tears, the subtle taste of salt on his lips making him ill. His voice was shrill, almost angry, and Richie stared at him, his smile never really falling. _Why won’t he **stop** , _Eddie’s brain screamed. 

“I’m not happy about this, darlin’” Richie slowly spoke, flexing his fingers against Eddie’s as the smaller man began to cry even harder. Eddie couldn’t bring himself to tell Richie to cut the nicknames. He might never hear them again.

“I’m smiling because you still look the same” Richie whispered as he stared absently up at Eddie. He could feel the gentle splatter of tears on his already soaked shirt, the last thing he truly felt before his nerves dulled. Richie felt the overwhelming calm begin to envelope him, and he stared up at Eddie’s face, his vision beginning to splinter with black splotches. The last thing he would ever see. The only thing he wanted to see in that very moment.

“After all these years, I didn’t forget you. I’m smiling because you still look the same. You still look like the Eds I loved.”

And as Eddie Kaspbrak placed a tear soaked kiss to the man’s forehead, Richie Tozier exhaled the last bit of breath that would ever grace his lips, fingers loosening where Eddie’s tightened, and a piece of each of their souls escaping with it, drifting upwards through the dark sewer walls that kept them trapped inside their own minds for all their lives.

 


End file.
